Still I Rise
by undsy1525
Summary: EWE? Draco thought, quite satisfactorily, that they could all ruddy well sod off. A bunch of skirts and milksops. Who needs that kind of aggravation? Hermione was grieving, Ginny secretly so, and those boys... they were pure mischief. DM/HG, GeW/LL, HP/GW
1. Proceedings

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to the phenomenally talented author, JK Rowling.. I am merely playing with her creations. Oh, Draco, you sly devil. **

**PART ONE  
"Enmity and Sorrow"**

_You may write me down in history  
With your bitter, twisted lies,  
You may trod me in the very dirt  
But still, like dust, I'll rise..._

_Does my haughtiness offend you?  
Don't you take it awful hard  
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines  
Diggin' in my own back yard..._

_You may shoot me with your words,  
You may cut me with your eyes,  
You may kill me with your hatefulness,  
But still, like air, I'll rise..._

_**Maya Angelou  
Poet Extraordinaire**_

_****__The trial was not going well. _

_Even as the merciful saint Potter gave his holy testimony on the Malfoys' behalf, a growing number of the Wizengamot were shaking their heads and frowning. Draco studied each member carefully, trepidation building up inside, feeling as if he could burst any second. Has a wizard ever spontaneously combusted? Taking one shallow breath after another, he tried to calm his traitorous body down. Malfoys' should appear dignified, despite any situation._

Draco was seated between his parents. Lucius Malfoy sat tall and stoic on his left, and Narcissa Malfoy was shrinking in fear on his right. All three were charged with heavy sentences of willfully serving as Death Eaters, and various war crimes besides.

The idea of spending the rest of his life in Azkaban was abhorrent to Draco, unthinkable even. His stomach was churning, and head relentlessly pounding. Just a few meters away, a stenographer was seated, quietly but perpetually click, click, clicking away on his silly machine. 

_But to Draco it felt as if the small man was casually pounding a chisel into his temples. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes, and continued to evaluate the Wizengamot. Soon after Potter finally stepped down, the Council called a recess so that they could deliberate in private. _

_Potter walked by the Malfoys' table, and as he did, the two former rivals made eye contact. Draco's cheeks grew pink as he recognized pity in Potter's gaze. With a dark scowl, Draco turned away, and stared sulkily down at the dark wooden grain of the table. The shame was simply too much._

The lawyer seated at the Malfoy bench was a seedy looking man with more hair in his ears than upon his head. His name was Mr. Grody, I believe, and the most useful announcement that he has made all day was _that he would be back shortly with water for each of them. Draco had no idea why his Father had hired him __in the first place, but he drank thirstily out of the small cup provided nonetheless._

Seconds crept by at a painfully slow rate, and Draco was mortified when he broke out in sweat as the Wizengamot began to file back into the room. As discreetly as possible, he wiped his brow and shared a quick look with his Mother, Narcissa. She nodded encouragement, and Draco looked back down at the table once more. He felt as though he were suffocating. The dungeons of Azkaban were calling the Malfoy name, and Draco repressed a shudder as the image made his stomach roll violently. Belatedly, Draco was quite thankful that he had no breakfast to lose right now.

All of the Council members sat down upon their benches, save for one petite middle-aged witch with frizzy hair. She stepped forward, and began to read from the parchment she was holding in her hands.

"_In the trial of the three members of the Malfoy family, our esteemed Council members of the Wizengamot hereby find all three defendants guilty of the charges set against them."_

She paused cryptically as Draco's stomach plummeted further, and stars began to fog his vision. With a slight frown, she continued. "But – Narcissa Malfoy saved Harry Potter's life by lying to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and her contributions to the Death Eaters were limited – the charges against her have been reduced to a one year sentence of house arrest – and strict restrictions upon her magic." After what seemed like a long interval of time, she looked up, eying me squarely.

"Likewise, due to Harry Potter's testimony, and the fact that you have not been a Death Eater for very long, young Mr. Malfoy, the charges against you have been reduced to mandatory counseling once a month, and a permanent mark upon your record. We are reluctant to imprison one so young... but we will be keeping an eye on you."

A heavy weight lifted off of Draco, and he shared a smile with his Mother, who was gripping his hand tightly. The relief did not last very long. The witch frowned, and continued. "However. Due to Lucius Malfoy's repeated offenses during the last two wars, clearly portraying a lack of regret, the Wizengamot has voted to sentence him with twenty-five years in Azkaban Prison. He may appeal in five years."

Draco froze, his face muscles becoming impossibly tight. He saw his Father out of the corner of his eye, whispering consolingly to his Mother. How did it get so cold in here all of a sudden? He could not move. They dangled hope within his reach, only to blindside him. Draco watched in a horrified stupor as a pair of Aurors arrived, abruptly pulling his Father up out of his chair without a word, and quickly led him out of the room. The trial was over before Draco could even wrap his mind around what had happened.

His Mother's hopeless sobs filled his ears, and determinedly, Draco closed off all of his emotions, helping her to stand. Emptiness swallowed him whole as he supported her through the crowd.

Early the next morning Draco apparated into The Leaky Cauldron. Like a thousand tiny pinpricks, he could feel the sullen stares fixed upon him as he parted the crowd. His stomach was once again heavy, filled with lead, but he ignored everyone, and kept his gaze focused solely upon his one destination, carefully and sedately walking towards the rear of the room.

After the entrance appeared, Draco set off towards the distinctive and colossal white building in the distance at a fast clip. The sight was impressive as ever, overwhelming the street, as the diminutive surrounding shops seemed to shrink away in comparison.

With his back straight, and chin raised defiantly, Draco stalked up to the nearest goblin, whose nameplate read Fulflak. Fulflak politely welcomed Draco, and Draco coolly asked to see his family's vault. The goblin's small beady eyes mimicked the younger Malfoy's gaze as he composedly asked to see the Master's key and wand. As he carefully inspected each item, Draco concentrated on not pulling down the sleeve of his robe, self-conscious of the dark mark he had been forced to receive.

Fulflak pocketed the key and handed Draco back his wand. Nodding courteously, he stated, "Mr. Malfoy, if you will follow me please."

Silently, they made their way below into the cavern, a haphazard arena with a hundred lanes of magical carts. Somewhat hesitantly, Draco preceded Fulflak into the nearest one, and sat down, trying not to let Fulflak see him gripping the edge. The cart slowly began to descend, and a few startling seconds later, the cart was racing along at an unnerving speed. Draco was starting to feel green, and he was fortunate to have skipped breakfast once again. Finally, the blasted contraption began to slow down, and his smarting eyes could begin to focus on the surroundings once more.

It was dark, the only light being a magically lit torch on the clammy stone wall. Weakly, Draco stood, dusted himself off, and climbed out. Fulflak took the key out of his pocket, and inserted it into the lock, while resting the palm of his other hand on the bare stretch of wall.

In the near distance, Draco could hear an echoing roar. Standing still, he swallowed and watched Fulflak curiously. The goblin gave no notice to the beast, so Draco determined that he would ignore it as well.

A few clicks later, the wall disappeared, revealing golden mountains of galleons, and various precious stones.

Draco walked in, frowning slightly. "I am authorizing you to transfer half of everything into the Ministry's vault and an additional amount of 25,000 galleons into an appropriate St. Mungo's charity account."

He turned on his heel, looking for a valuable sapphire necklace his Mother specifically requested. He spotted the luminous jewelry on a shelf in the corner and walked over to collect it. As He carefully wrapped the necklace in a thick cloth, and put it in a pocket of his robe, he airily announced, "I shall be withdrawing this. That is all."

Fulflak stood there gaping, having not moved an inch since the young Malfoy began speaking. Draco smiled to himself and walked out, quite ready to return home. After about thirty seconds, the goblin shook his head, and followed after the young Master. "Very well. When we reach the Lobby, I shall retrieve the paperwork necessary for such... transactions."

Thirty minutes later, Draco walked out of the bronze doors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank with a lighter bounce in his step. These trips always leave one with a renewed appreciation for solid ground.

The walls within Malfoy Manor were subdued and silent, the lofty airs of consequence quite all but forgotten. In the two weeks that have passed since the trial, each day seemed to continually heap enough tasks to keep Draco busy for months. He obligingly took over all of his Father's duties, in an effort to make his Mother's life easier.

But life was not easy for Narcissa Malfoy. She was burdened by her husband's circumstances, saddened by the weight of the world already wearing upon her son, and hurt by the indifference of her lifelong friends. She had dispatched several invitations for tea, only to be snubbed repeatedly.

These discourtesies infuriated Draco. He despised hypocrisy, and the harm to his Mother's feelings only added insult to injury. With a distracted frown, he sat at the dining table across from her, sipping a strong cup of coffee and dismissively scanning the Daily Prophet. A recent addition to the Malfoy House Elf staff, Dilly, set an inviting plate of mixed berry crepes with mascarpone before the quiet duo. Draco sniffed appreciatively, the delicious aroma caused his stomach to rumble, and he released his frustrated breath with a sigh.

As he took his first bite, Draco tried to ignore how empty the banquet-sized dining table felt without his Father's presence. He had to squelch such a weakness, though sometimes he felt as if he were losing what little equanimity he possessed. But what were the Malfoy's supposed to be—but composed? His Father would expect nothing less.

With his posture ramrod straight, Draco continued chewing in silence, contemplating the flightiness of his family's so called allies. He thought, quite satisfactorily, that they could all ruddy well sod off. A bunch of skirts and milksops. Who needs that kind of aggravation?

Dismissing the lot of them from his mind, Draco focused on his Mother, heartened to find that she was eating this morning, instead of merely rearranging the food on her plate. He was almost finished with his crepes when a large tawny owl began pecking patiently upon a nearby window. Draco tossed his napkin onto his plate, and gently scooted his chair back, careful not to disturb his Mother. His light steps were silent upon the dark marbleized floor as he crossed the room, and he eyed the bird curiously.

After unlatching the old-fashioned window, he relieved the owl of it's bundle, and watched as it soared away. With a downward glance, Draco startled as he read his name in spiky script near the Hogwarts' crest. Sitting quietly, he picked up an unused silver knife lying nearby, and cut open the large envelope from the top. It is uncertain what he had been expecting to find, but to say that Draco Malfoy was surprised by the contents of this particular letter would be a gross understatement.

In all honesty, a casual observer would be found snickering, quite loudly, if they were lucky enough to see young Draco Malfoy's face at the exact moment he learned he was being summoned to Hogwarts to begin his counseling with Headmistress McGonagall, and while he was there, complete his education.

He was flabbergasted. The idea of returning to Hogwarts had his heart pumping in an overwhelming rhythm of hope and excitement – but – monthly sessions with McGonagall? He could not help but feel that the Wizengamot was deliberately cutting below the belt. He gaped at the letter, and his brow furrowed in annoyance. With a small sense of satisfaction, he mentally kicked every cheeky member of that forsaken council right in the shin.

Sighing resignedly, Draco began to look through the rest of the parchments. His eyebrows rose at the new Inter-House Workshop and he had to suppress a groan. McGonagall was going to be unbearable, that much was sure. Draco stubbornly told himself that if he had to work with Potter all year, he would pack his bags for Azkaban himself.

Why in Merlin would they even want him back at Hogwarts? It was such a mystery that Draco sat still for several seconds, contemplating and trying to make sense of it. With a grimace, he realized that this was the perfect way for them to keep an eye on him—and no doubt McGonagall would be watching him like a hawk. But still, to have something like homework to drown himself in would be a welcome change and one that he could not ignore nor deny. As Draco glanced at his Mother, who was gazing off into the distance distractedly, a wave of quilt overwhelmed him. How could he leave her here on her own, with no one to look after her but a silly staff of House Elves?

The very thought was inconceivable. Frowning, Draco cast the envelope and it's contents away from him, and stood, stretching. He walked around the table, and kissed his Mother on the cheek before leaving for the study. This room was his favorite in the entire manor because his Father's influence was readily found in the dark cherry furniture, the wall to wall bookshelves overflowing with hundreds of leather-bound volumes in every size, and the unrestrained masculinity of it all.

Draco had not looked through anything in the study yet, but he felt more at peace in this room, than anywhere else. He picked up his quill in distraction and wondered what he could possibly do about his Mother. He could only think of hiring a companion for her, but whom could he possibly trust? Certainly not any of her questionable floozy friends. What he needed right now was family, but they simply did not... Wait a second. He laughed harshly, and knew that he would most likely be thrown out on his arse, but he had to try.

**A/N: Always a heap of thanks to my friend, whom I shall refer to as The Big Lebowski, for his intelligent and extremely helpful input for this chapter. I have strained and struggled, cursed and cried over the intro to my story – but I hereby declare it done. No more editing this baby. Now... Only fifty or so more chapters to go. Whoop!**

**I decided to change from First Person POV to more of a Third Person Omniscient POV... but I am certainly no expert. If you find any mistakes, or have any suggestions, please do not hesitate to let me know.**

**Reviews/comments are most appreciated. In fact, they are cheerfully encouraged. Bless you, and carry on! **


	2. The Return

Disclaimer: JK Rowling kicks my arse in the awesome department.

The aftermath of the final battle was brutal. Fred's death had left everyone reeling, and Hermione was heartbroken for the family that had come to mean so much to her over the past several years. Shell-shocked, the Weasleys began to pick up the pieces of their broken household. With each progressive day that passed, a feeling of panic was building in the pit of her stomach. What was everyone supposed to do now? What was she supposed to do now? Find a job? Move into a depressing flat by herself? She looked around the crowded room, and a hysterical wave of loneliness assaulted her.

Her parents wanted nothing to do with her, Harry and Ginny were wrapped up in each other, oblivious to anyone outside of their bubble, and Ron... well, being around Ron was just awkward these days. Who did that leave? Hermione was adrift in a life in which she had always known direction and it was very unsettling.

Hermione's last confrontation with her parents had left her grief-stricken and shaken. An insurmountable rift separated them, and it was too painful to even think of how they had parted ways. Unwanted, and alone, with nowhere to go, she had found herself at the Burrow. A grim refuge, but a refuge nonetheless.

She wasn't the only one. Harry and Percy had already moved in when she arrived, and Charlie appeared soon after. Bill and Fleur did not officially move in, but they were at the Burrow nearly every day, coming and going at random.

Mrs. Weasley looked so exhausted, working herself to the bone. Everyone was worried about her. Since Fred's death, she had lost several pounds. She spent all of her time cooking, and cleaning, but Hermione rarely saw her eat.

Most of the Weasley's seemed to be recovering in a healthy manner, but Mr. Weasley and George were both drawn into lethargic silence. George especially. He barely interacted with anyone, and spent most of his time upstairs alone, locked in his room.

As the summer dragged by, Harry and Ginny began to disappear more and more often, preferring to spend all of their time alone together. But no one could begrudge them, because they were always in such good spirits when they returned. As always, they returned this evening with rosy cheeks and their hair tousled in disarray. It warmed Mrs. Weasley's heart somewhat to see her only daughter so happy.

Hermione was grateful to have Luna around. Every day that went by, she became a little more uncomfortable being alone with Ron after the kiss that they had shared. Ron had failed to so much as mention nor reinstate any sign of a relationship, and she was clueless as how to address it.

Over the past few years, it was true that Hermione had been attracted to Ron intermittently, but she never seriously considered being his girlfriend. She often wondered if he had any expectations of her, and guiltily, fervently, she hoped that he did not.

Perhaps he has forgotten about it. Maybe.

Having the house full seemed to lighten the atmosphere a little. At least it wasn't so dreadfully quiet. On one such morning, everyone was gathered around the large table for breakfast; save for Mrs. Weasley, who was dashing to and fro serving food and refilling drinks.

Feeling sick after eating everything on her plate only to have it instantly refilled, Hermione was immensely relieved to be interrupted by an early owl post. Surprisingly, four identical bundles were dropped unceremoniously upon four plates, while a fifth, smaller bundle was dropped upon Ginny's. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other dubiously, unsure as to what was going on. George paid no attention to his whatsoever.

No one made a move to open their mail; the Hogwarts' crest seemed to have immobilized them all. Even Mrs. Weasley had paused, one hand holding a teapot, with the other supported upon the table. The tension was broken, however, as Mr. Weasley rustled the Daily Prophet and set it aside.

Hesitantly, Hermione broke the seal and pulled out a hefty stack of parchments. As she read the first few lines to herself, she paused in surprise and then began to read the letter out loud for everyone to hear.

Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to extend an invitation for you to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on September the First. A complete education is paramount to your future, and we look forward to having you as a student once more.

Please find enclosed your list of books and supplies, academic calendar and new class syllabus.

Yours Sincerely,

_Filius Flitwick  
Deputy Headmaster_

Quickly turning to the next page, Hermione exclaimed aloud as she read the following letter to herself.

_SYLLABUS INTRODUCTION:_

In an effort to promote tolerance and mutual understanding, a new course has been added to the curriculum and one of the previously enrolled courses has been greatly modified to meet this need.

Every student will be required to take and participate in both the new Inter-House Impartiality and Tolerance Workshop (Also referred to as Inter-House Workshop), and the modified Muggle Studies class.

Following is a list of the topics we will be covering in...

Hermione looked up with a genuine smile on her face, but with chagrin, she noticed that George still had not touched his mail; he was eating his eggs slowly, his face tense. Charlie clapped him lightly on the back and across the table Percy loudly announced what a splendid idea this was, proceeding to expound on his N.E.W.T. year from there. Hermione and Charlie furtively glanced at George, concerned. Charlie began to quietly encourage him, but anyone watching could see that George was becoming irritated. Before Charlie could finish his next sentence, George suddenly stood up, accidentally knocking his glass of juice over.

With a stoney expression, George announced, "There is no way in hell that I am going back."

Everyone stopped talking, and froze in their seats. Before a reply could be made, he put his hands in his pockets, glared sullenly around the table, and was gone.

The next few weeks were strained. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley incessantly tried to talk George around, but their efforts only ended in rows. Early August arrived with a procession of strenuous heat waves, but today a blessed cold front had moved in, allowing for more moderate weather. Hermione and Luna helped Mrs. Weasley put all of the lunch dishes away, while Ron caught Harry and Ginny heading out the door.

Hermione rolled her eyes as Ron begged Harry, "Pleeease, Mate. I'm going barmy. I've been abandoned here with the girls for weeks! If I have to hear about another book or – or imaginary creature–"

Harry shared a discreet glance with Ginny, and with a small sigh she nodded. He pulled Ron out the door, with Ginny in tow. They could hear Harry saying, "Alright then, Ron, I get your point. How about a bit of Quidditch? I don't mind taking you and Ginny on, since I am, after all, the star–" It sounded like there was a lot of shoveling, and Hermione turned back to the kitchen, shaking her head.

_I can't believe Ron! That prat kissed me, and now he's complaining about my company? In front of me? _Hermione rather felt like punching him, if only on the arm.

Maybe he really HAS forgotten. She crossed her fingers and followed them outside, Luna not far behind.

While Harry, Ginny, and Ron were swooping about the orchard, practicing with a quaffle, Hermione and Luna watched from some steps in the garden. The sky was a bonnie cerulean blue, and the light breeze a perfect eighty degrees. The break in heat was invigorating, and Hermione felt herself truly relax for the first time in weeks.

Luna had her hair up in a pretty plaited crown, and Hermione asked if she would mind doing her hair. Nodding, Luna happily agreed. She sat behind Hermione, humming as she arranged Hermione's hair into a crown.

Luna stared thoughtfully into the distance for a few seconds, and then shook herself, continuing to plait her friend's long unruly hair. "I am worried about George. I know he misses Fred terribly. He must feel as though his soul has been splinched in half, but..." She frowned, and sighed a little. "His aura gets darker every day. How long is he going to wallow? Brooding so is only going to-"

Abruptly, both girls turned in surprise as there was a small crash behind them. George was standing there, pale and shaking slightly in the sunlight.

"I did not ask for your felicitous advice, Luna." George spat, nearly losing control.

Hermione flinched, immediately shamefaced, but Luna remained unfazed as ever. She stood up and faced him, keeping eye contact, even as he towered above her.

"George.. I truly hope I don't offend you, but I cannot help _but_ to pity you, nor want to help. Fred is gone, and he's never coming back." She stepped closer towards him, laying her hand upon his arm. "We are all afraid that you're not either."

George stood there stiffly, turning red. After a few very awkward seconds, he nodded sharply and turned to leave. Before he was out of earshot Luna quietly called after him, "George, we miss _you_ too."

He didn't pause, but he heard her.

As Autumn approached the Burrow, the air became cooler, and the crisp fragrance of apples and cinnamon stirred in the breeze. Hermione loved this time of year. Naturally, she enjoyed the anticipation of returning to class, and spent much of her time poring over her new texts. Finally, September the First arrived, and with it a slight annoyance with Harry and Ron. The Hogwarts Express departed in an hour, and the boys had only just begun packing.

Ron's room was a monstrous bright orange wreck. Hermione gawked for a few seconds, before treading cautiously around various piles of clothing that cluttered the floor, greatly hindering her steps.

Both trunks were open in the middle of the room, and both boys were pulling random items out, tossing them in haphazard arcs behind their backs. Hermione shook her head sadly, and admonished them both in a fair imitation of Mrs. Weasley, "Honestly! You two! Just look at this mess! What have you been doing all summer? I fail to understand why you must procrastinate in everything. You really should have been done ages ago."

They both looked up with matching grins, and Hermione laughed, in spite of herself. "You are of age you know. Why didn't you use your wands? It's nearly time to set off!"

Ron rolled his eyes skyward, and replied, "We're not all as excited as you are about going back, Hermione." He moaned, "I thought I was in the clear. What is the point of being a war hero if you can't use your fame and glory to land a comfy job?" He looked a bit wistful as he lamented, "Was it all for nothing?"

Harry snorted, and shook his head. "Ron, sometimes, you are so selfish, it hurts."

Hermione laughed, and agreed with Harry. Gamely, Ron merely shrugged, accepting the truth about himself with dignity. Together, they began loading all of their needed belongings into the trunks, and then sat down side by side on the edge of Harry's bed. Hermione tucked her chin in the palm of her hand, and turned to face Harry as he sighed.

Ron asked, "What's up, Mate?" and Harry hesitated, before laying back on the bed with another sigh. He finally choked out what had been on his mind for some time. "I'm going to ask Ginny to marry me." He cringed as Ron burst up off of the bed, and held his breath during Ron's inevitable explosion.

Ron paced back and forth in front of them both, pulling on his hair, and bellowing at Harry. Before long, his hair was sticking straight up in the air, and he had run out of breath. Defeated, he sat back down and crossed his arms stubbornly. "How—you—Merlin, she's only seventeen! Marriage!" Ron laughed harshly, and refused to look at Harry.

Harry sat up and looked at Hermione, but she just shook her head sharply, and waved her hand towards Ron, a clear message that Harry needed to make his own amends. Harry ruffled his hair uncomfortably, and cleared his throat. "I have been trying to work up the nerve to tell you for awhile, Ron. I don't mean I am going to ask her today or anything... I was planning for her birthday-"

Ron glared at him with a crude expression on his face, "That's only a few weeks away!"

Harry nodded, "Yes, well... Of course we will not get married until after Graduation, but it is the only thing that I want." He spread his hands sadly, and looked down. "It's all I have ever wanted, really. The idea of starting my own family-"

Ron's face turned an alarming shade of puce as he rasped, "You are not talking about—what I think you are talking about—with my SISTER!"

Baiting Ron, Harry turned to him with a raised eyebrow and chirped, "How sweet of you, Ronnie, to be concerned about my virtue."

Harry was still grinning when Ron punched him in the face.

Hermione looked across the Gryffindor table at Harry and Ron, who were snickering between bites and elbowing each other. With a relieved sigh she shook her head bemusedly, and silently thanked whoever might be listening that Harry had conceded—agreeing to wait. Turning her attention back to the students next to her, Hermione eavesdropped on the conversation taking place.

Seamus was saying, "This is so surreal. I never imagined coming back to Hogwarts, especially after the year that we all had. Me Dad has been hounding me to go to work with him." He shuddered. "Can you see me driving a muggle bus? It'd be worse than Stan's old gig. Never been so happy to see an owl in me life."

Dean laughed, and slapped Seamus on the back. "You and me both, Mate. Cheers!" He held up his goblet of pumpkin juice, and blithely toasted his friend.

Truth be told, most of the returning students were in grand merry spirits, and it took Headmistress McGonagall some time to gather everyone's attention. After the insistent cat calls finally died down, McGonagall robustly addressed the crowd, though she did appear much more flushed than usual.

"Yes, yes. Oh do shut it, Thomas." With a somewhat exasperated air, McGonagall faced them all. A small smile peeked out, and she began. "Greetings and welcome to you all. Hogwarts is overjoyed to have you all back. This last year has been.. Well, we have much to be thankful for, and much to grieve."

She focused on the Slytherin table when she said, "This is a year for second chances."

After an interminable pause, she abruptly clapped her hands once. "Now—for introductions. We have several new Professors joining our staff this year, and I do hope that you will all make them feel welcome. Hailing all of the way from Rio de Janeiro, to teach the reformed Muggle Studies class, is Professor Huerta." McGonagall inclined her head towards the end of the staff table where a young and winsome Spanish woman was sitting. Professor Huerta smiled broadly, and waved at them all.

Hermione glared at Ron as he gawked at the staff table, his mouth hanging wide open. With a struggle for indifference, she focused on the Headmistress once more. "Teaching Defense against the Dark Arts, please welcome retired Auror, and good friend of mine, Professor Crew." She smiled at the salt and pepper headed man seated next to Professor Huerta. He nodded genially, but still portrayed an aura of veneration. Harry and Ron both sat on the edge of their seats, clearly enraptured at the idea of being taught by a veteran Auror.

"Transferring from the renowned Halcyon School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Dublin, Professor Caulfield will be teaching the new Inter-House Workshop." A middle aged, yet very appealing man with coal black hair and magnetic brown eyes waved cordially from his seat. McGonagall continued as if all of the girls in the Great Hall were not unabashedly gushing. "And last, but most certainly not least, Professor Greer, retired Unmentionable, will be teaching Potions." An old witch with a quirky brow nodded and turned back to her dessert, appearing somewhat amused.

And thus—the beauteous and disastrous year began unfolding.

A/N: Any and all feedback heartily welcomed. Thank you for reading! G'day! And to a certain loyal reader (a.k.a. "Mum") living above the Canadian border, I say "Aye! Aye!" 


	3. An Impasse

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop and the clothes on my back.

Overall, there is hardly anything that makes Draco Malfoy anxious. But—as fate would have it, and let's face it, fate is never kind—he has had the misfortune of being subjected to these few but recurring smites much too frequently in the past couple of years. Of these, two remain obvious, and quite permanent, he thought. First and foremost, any persecution of his family's name or character is a formidable—and blind—button that is much better left unpressed. As the reader no doubt is already aware, a certain trio from a particularly undignified House take great pleasure in riling him up in this way; for they have always been, and will forever remain convinced that the Malfoys are no better than a detestable coven of scamps, and treated him as such.

Such abuse is tolerable, but only scarcely so. As unseemly a prospect as the majority of the Wizarding world sharing this outlook on his family, it was, for an unfathomable reason to him, the opinion of these three blights that rankled the most. Anyone on the outside looking in could see in a moment that Draco was jealous of the three comrades, but it is understandable that he would never own up to _that._

Yes, Potter had recently spoken on his family's behalf, but Draco put it down to the magnanimity that is so maddeningly common in the red and gold House, and ignored it completely. Seven years of open hostility has left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. How he had almost dreaded returning to Hogwarts!

As for the second, Draco has a profound weakness when faced with pain of any degree. Do not think too badly of him for this, because it is not wholly selfish. He cannot stand to see anyone in pain; the experience always immobilizes him, leaving him nauseated, and filled with guilt. How many times has he watched from the sidelines, powerless, frozen with fear and sickness of heart—as strangers, or worse yet, acquaintances, were tortured, maimed, killed... wasted... for a sick man's leisurely sport?

No one could be more disgusted with this stigma than Draco himself. He was convinced that he was a coward to the core, and he despised this weakness more than anything. In anyone else, this behavior would be unhealthy at best, but for the infamously reprehensible Draco Malfoy, it was the beginning of a new leaf. As he found one fault in himself, he was forced to eventually consider the possibility of another.

Presently, though, Draco was sitting in the Great Hall, quietly eating his dinner. The first few days back everyone had openly gawked at him. He had scared more than a few of the younger students as he scowled darkly, roughly shouldering his way through the crowds, trying to get to class. Had he ever been so insufferably small? With a shake of his head, he finally arrived at the last corridor, and slowed down a bit. A cluster of Gryffindors were partially blocking the doorway, and he eyed them coolly. Potter barely spared him a glance, but the Weasleys were practically growling at the bit.

As he sidled closer, no one moved, so he cleared his throat. Frowning at the oldest Weasley, who was the one mostly in the way, Draco raised a derogatory eyebrow, and as casually as possible asked, "Excuse me."

George's temper has been simmering for months and there are few people who could set him off more than a Death Eater who had, in his eyes, skated nonchalantly through the war unpunished. Not knowing who had cast the curse that caused Fred's death only encouraged George to blame everyone equally, if not fairly.

His eyes narrowed as he faced off with the blond headed nemesis. "You will never be excused, Ferret." George smiled at Draco's stiff expression. "Why don't you _make_ me move, hmm?"

Hermione looked scandalized, and she pulled on George's arm, "Honestly, George! Let him pass."

Unfortunately, anger and vindication do not coexist with reason at all.

While Ron was not as resentful as his brother, there was enough bad blood between himself and Malfoy to cloud his better judgment. Discreetly, so no one would see, Ron pulled his wand out, somewhat eager to get a good hex in.

Harry put his hand on George's shoulder and began to tell him to take it easy, but George shook him off, stepping closer to Draco. Taking everyone by surprise, instead of drawing his wand, George drew his fist. The first impact was a shock, and the second one, even more so. The side of Draco's head rapped against the stone floor as he went down, and stars filled his eyes. Struggling, and trying to fight back in vain, the next thirty seconds passed by in slow motion for Draco. Seemingly from a distance he could hear shouting. He might have seen Potter and the other Weasley try to pull George off of him—but more likely, he was becoming delusional from the sharp blow to his temple.

Hermione had run to find a teacher, and she rounded the corner with Professors Huerta and Caulfield in tow. With the adults' help, George was pulled back, and immediately hauled off to the Headmistress's office by a tight-lipped Professor Caulfield.

Professor Huerta bent over Draco, and she turned to the students near her. "Someone please get Madam Pomfrey for me, rapido." As she turned back to face Draco, she reached and tried to still his hands. "Shh, don't move-"

Draco groaned, mumbling as intelligently as possible, "Mmphfine," and proceeded to try to stand up. He only made it to his knees, haplessly clutching his head. Without the support of the nearby Professor, he would have fallen over right then and there. Hermione stepped closer, and stooped down to help. Catching sight of something alarming, she turned to Professor Huerta with a soft cry, "Professor, his ear is bleeding heavily over here."

With a "Phmmoof." of indignation over Granger's statement regarding his ear, Draco blacked out, and it took both of them to catch him before he hit his head on the floor again. The hallway cleared of students as Madam Pomfrey arrived on the scene.

"Gracious me! What happened?"

Professor Huerta turned to the few students remaining close by and raised her eyebrow in question. "I would like a satisfactory explanation for that as well. It can wait, though. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville, would you please go to the Headmistress's Office and wait for me there? Minerva is going to want a much more efficient explanation than George's, I am sure. I am going to help Pomfrey for now, and I will be there shortly."

When no one moved, but remained staring at Draco's pale face nervously, she shooed them with her hands and turned her back on them, blocking Draco from view. Pomfrey was waving her wand over his head, casting diagnostic spells, and shaking her head. "We had better not move him just yet. Phera, would you mind holding this just for a second?"

Hermione tore her eyes away, took her friends by the shoulders and said quietly. "Come on you guys. Let's go."

She had to pull on their arms for a few seconds, but they finally started walking, Neville bringing up the rear. Ron was barely moving, so Neville was having to prod him along a bit. After a few minutes of silence he stopped altogether and leaned against the wall, looking ill.

"Um..." Ron began, unsure how to say what was on his mind. He groaned, "Bloody hell."

Harry nodded and inclined his head, "Let's just get this over with, all right? I hope that George doesn't get expelled, or anything but you have to admit..." Harry looked disturbed at what he had seen his friend do.

The four of them reluctantly continued on, Hermione looking especially pale. Soon after, the stone gargoyle found them in a tense silence. Eventually Ron shrugged and asked, "Does anyone know the password?" Harry frowned and addressed the gargoyle, "May we go up?" With a passive shrug the statue consented, nimbly (for marble) stepping out of the way.

Eyebrows rose and Harry smirked sparingly at them. "He's not quite his usual self yet. I heard Professor Flitwick grumbling about it yesterday before class." Ron guffawed and shook his head, "Of course you did. I don't remember anything of the sort but-"

Harry snorted, "Mercy skies! There's a shocker for ya." Ron made a face at Harry, and laughing, Harry tapped his ear, "He who has ears, let him hear." Turning red, Ron faced him with a frown, "What the blazes is that supposed to mean?"

Before he could reply, Neville stated quite seriously, "That you have selective hearing. Quite a bad case of it, I'm afraid. Are we going up, or what?" Ron looked offended but as everyone else headed up the winding staircase, he followed sulkily, tugging on his ear all the while.

Harry's residual smile fell as they entered the strained atmosphere. Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Caulfield, and George were spread out in opposite sides of the room. Each of their faces were red, and McGonagall was quite out of breath from her most recent thunderous lecture. George would not meet their eyes, but he was frowning darkly, his gaze blazing a hole in the floor, and his arms crossed tensely.

Uncomfortable, the four eyed each other apprehensively and jumped as one when McGonagall sharply excused George. "Please leave us, Mr. Weasley. You are, and I repeat, not off of the hook. Professor Caulfield, would you be so kind as to chaperone Mr. Weasley in the sitting room next door? I must contemplate the best course of discipline suited to such violence." Professor Caulfield nodded and waited patiently for George to stand. He did so without a glance at anyone, and followed the Professor out of the room.

As the door closed McGonagall turned to them with a steely gaze and gestured towards the armchairs with her hand, indicating silently for them all to have a seat. After everyone was seated the Headmistress remained silent, so they waited quietly. After a minute, she focused on them with a frown. "Forgive me. Pray tell, how is Mr. Malfoy faring?"

Hermione was the only one to speak up, and she did so very softly. "I'm worried, Headmistress. His temple was struck against the stone floor quite... forcefully." She bit her lip, "His ear was bleeding heavily, which makes me think that perhaps-"

McGonagall abruptly stood up, knocking over an inkstand. "Upon my word, that is perturbing. I had better see about Mr. Malfoy myself. Miss Granger, if you will accompany me to the Hospital Wing, perhaps after I make sure that he is going to make a complete recovery, you could enlighten me as to how this whole situation came about. Thank you all for coming. Just a quick word with Professor Caulfield and we can be off."

Headmistress McGonagall took quick steps towards the nearby door, and the boys turned towards Hermione questionably. "What is going on?" Ron asked, looking thoroughly confused. Hermione stood, and pretended to dust herself off, as she struggled for an answer. "Intracranial pressure." At their bewildered looks, she began pacing in front of the desk. "Bleeding out of the ears or nose after a head injury is a sign of head trauma much worse than that of a concussion. It's caused by internal bleeding around the brain, and in the muggle world, they, er, drill into your skull to release the pressure."

Three faces blanched, rearing back in almost perfect synchronization. Her shoulders drooped somewhat as she made another turn, and then sat back down. "It's... not good."

At that moment, McGonagall returned from the other room, looking harried. "Let's make haste, Miss Granger. Boys, please return to your classes immediately." Hermione stood awkwardly, and with a last glance at her friends, followed the Headmistress quickly towards the fireplace.

With a pinch of powder, enveloping dust, and a bright emerald flame, they were gone.

A/N: R&R Por favor! :)

I apologize to all of my previous readers on , who are-most likely by now, completely confused. I thank you sincerely for having already read the previous version, and I hope that you will stay with me as I remodel my story.  
Bless your patience.

I have so much in mind for Still I Rise...

Part One should be about 25 chapters in all, and when I get to Part Two (cannot wait, cannot wait) it will be titled, "Cold, Cold Heart". Draco and Hermione will remain the main characters, but I have formidable plot bunnies that are begging to be released into the wild for Harry/Ginny and George/Luna.

Constructive criticism is always welcome, and very helpful.


	4. Intuition

Disclaimer: The Atlantic Ocean would dry up before someone mistook me for JK Rowling.

Queasily stepping out of the fireplace, Hermione knew a moment of hesitation. What was she doing here, exactly? As concerned as she was for Malfoy's well-being, there was little question as to whether he would welcome her regard. Considering that he could hardly begrudge her presence while he was unconscious, she squared her shoulders determinedly, and resolutely remained at Headmistress McGonagall's side.

McGonagall rushed towards the bed, "How is he, Poppy?" Without looking up, Madame Pomfrey tutted, and continued to magically stitch Malfoy's head. "I released the pressure, and the swelling is going down considerably. Nasty blow to the head, I am afraid." She looked up, and met McGonagall's eyes, "The impact to his temple is my main concern now, but all in all, he should be fine. It's quite likely that he will suffer from headaches for several months, but he is already healing nicely, and there shouldn't be any permanent damage."

The Headmistress nodded sagely, and watched Malfoy's pale face a few moments before turning towards Hermione. "Miss Granger, I must ask you to please fill in the gaps for me. Quickly, though, if you do not mind. It will be no small task to inform his Mother of what has happened, and I should like to know all of the details possible."

Nodding, Hermione started shaking slightly as she informed her favorite teacher of George's rage, a tide of guilt tightening her esophagus as she tried to get the words out. With what she believed to be a spectacularly lame finish, she looked away, biting her lower lip.

McGonagall's color had risen as she absorbed every word, and after a pause, she bit out two words before striding back towards the fireplace. "I see."

Without hesitation, she stiffly pronounced "Malfoy Manor," and disappeared once more in a flash of emerald green. Closing her eyes briefly, Minerva McGonagall relaxed her facial muscles and prepared for what was sure to be a trying scene. Narcissa Malfoy was likely to be equal points distressed and hysterical, quite a bad equation for a Headmistress such as herself.

After fighting with the Wizengamot before and during the Malfoy's trial, Minerva felt doubly responsible for the promising Draco Malfoy. There was no denying that everyone deserved a second chance, and while his heart had never quite been in the right place, he was incredibly bright. To her amazement, in the past few weeks since classes have begun, young Mr. Malfoy had been the epitome of a model student—studious, well behaved, if a bit reserved. And alone, she thought sadly.

Opening her eyes, Minerva looked around the grand sitting room curiously, and dusted herself off. As she began walking around the antiquated but refined space, she began to mentally count to herself because, as sure as Dumbledore braided his beard, a house elf would be here shortly to welcome her. A few seconds later, three to be exact, a loud pop announced the expected arrival. Turning, Minerva gave the small creature a rather frugal attempt at a smile, and said, "Please inform your Mistress that I am here, and that I need to speak with her immediately."

The bobbing elf nodded once and disappeared promptly. When Narcissa did arrive a few minutes later, out of breath, Minerva noted with surprise that she was not alone.

"Andromeda?" Albeit shocked, she was not quite speechless. The witch in question settled the blond headed baby on her other hip and smiled in return. "Aye, Minerva. I hope all is well?" With a quick glance at her wilting sister, she spoke up once more. "What is going on?" Narcissa, with her hand at her throat, asked in a frantic surge of words, "Is something wrong? My Draco—"

Afraid that her eyebrows were still an unseemly height, Minerva hastened to school her features, and inclined her hand. "Perhaps we should all have a seat." After they were all seated with an untouched tea tray before them, she continued. "There has been an incident, I am sorry to say, but-" Her voice softened at Narcissa's distraught face. "Please do not worry, Draco is going to be all right."

Paling still further, Narcissa murmured under her breath the three words that hurt her heart. "Going to be..." and then met the Headmistress' eyes. "Which means that he isn't right now." Beautiful Teddy reached towards her, and she gladly accepted him into her arms. Slightly comforted by his chubby warmth, she continued in a stronger voice. "What happened?"

Minerva traced the pattern on her chair idly while answering. "Your son was attacked by another student. There was no duel, or any real chance to defend himself, I am afraid." With a look of indignant anger, she continued, telling the motionless ladies of the violence and the complications of Draco's head injury. When she had used up the last of her information, Minerva paused and waited for a response. The two sisters sat in stressful silence for a few minutes, and the only sound to be heard was Teddy's upbeat gurgling.

Minerva waited tensely for the outburst that was certain to be forthcoming, but she was surprised yet again. After an interminable suspension, Narcissa turned towards her sister and beseechingly asked, "Will you return with the Headmistress to Hogwarts when she goes? Please Dromeda? I cannot bear to think of him suffering, especially alone. You could take him a few items, and then tell me how he looks and feels." Her eyes seemed to double in size as she made her request, and they filled with tears as she mourned the fact that she could not go herself. Andromeda nodded with assurance, and met Minerva's gaze with a small smile.

Relaxing into her chair, Minerva began to explain that while he was going to make a full recovery, Draco would likely have headaches for many weeks, if not months. At his Mother's worried look, she tried to cheer her up by revealing how high Draco's marks have been so far, and for a moment, Narcissa's eyes lit up. "He told me before he left that he was going to trounce a girl in class if it killed him."

Minerva smiled. "He must have been referring to Hermione. Ah, yes, well they always do go head to head. I always thought—Oh, I don't know—" Minerva faltered, abashed by what she had been about to say. Narcissa's eyebrow rose daintily and she could not help a small secret smile. "That he might fancy her?" The three women chuckled together at the incredible idea, and sat back in their chairs, soothed by the warm company.

The topic of their conversation lingered in the Hospital Wing well after propriety demanded. Hermione could not help watching Malfoy curiously, and she pestered Pomfrey, repeatedly asking if he was really going to be all right. One has to mentally settle comfortably into Miss Granger's shoes here for an exhaustible length of time to really understand that until she saw cold gray eyes glaring at her, or perhaps an infuriatingly dignified expression on his face, he just wasn't okay.

Seeing how soft his newly healed face could look in slumber was as surreal as it was beautiful. Oops. Did she just think that? She meant unnatural. It was unnatural.

She would just stay until he snarled at her, and sure as that would make them both feel better, she could leave in peace. With a jolt, she turned towards the fireplace as the Headmistress appeared. Hermione scooted back and stood, then stared as Mrs. Tonks stepped out of the fireplace a few seconds later. Standing straight and blinking, she watched in a haze of confusion as the woman she could only think of as Remus' Mother-in-law rushed towards Malfoy's bedside. Belatedly, and feeling foolish, she realized that all things considered, she was his Aunt.

Out of place, Hermione went to go stand by the Headmistress as Mrs. Tonks smoothed Malfoy's hair back from his brow and calmly asked Madame Pomfrey how he was doing. For some unfathomable reason, Hermione's throat tightened, and she quickly made her goodbyes and left the room.

The next few minutes were passed peacefully in the Hospital Wing, but not nearly quiet enough for someone recently cursed with a blatant head injury. Magic remedies aside, Draco felt horrible. In fact, he was quite sure that he had never felt worse. His thoughts were in a slow garbled fog, and the more he thought, the more they hurt.

Arghhuhhngh. Merlin's.. jumper.. bottoms.. eating.. my.. face.. Malediction.. what.. is that bloody.. godforsaken noise? My head... Ugngh... My head...

He moaned, and swore to himself that he would never drink again.

Nice, Draco.

His groaning caught the attention of the three ladies talking in hushed voices nearby. As cool hands touched his forehead, he frowned in puzzlement. With considerable effort, Draco opened his heavy eyelids, and found his Aunt watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. He flinched, and reeled back when Madame Pomfrey started shining some abominable contraption in his eyes. "You will hold still, Mr. Malfoy, if you do not wish me to accidentally poke you in the eye. Hmph." She tweaked his nose, and tutted. "Open those devastating gray daggers, Son."

His eyes flew open as he spluttered, and Pomfrey smiled cheekily at his aghast expression. Cutting off his retort, his Aunt reached her hand down and hesitantly touched his hand. "How are you feeling, Draco?" Taken aback at the change in his Aunt, but comforted all the same, he leaned back against his pillow and eventually replied. "Where's the trolley?"

Baffled, and dare I say, amused, six gray eyebrows rose in unison. McGonagall softly asked, straining for a straight face, "What's that, Mr. Malfoy?" Frowning hurt, so Draco settled for a raddled sigh. "I swear, either I have been ran over by one, or I topped off a case of Ogden's all by myself."

All three women laughed, and his Aunt shook her head, still smiling. "Shocking! I daresay, you will be just fine. Just wait until I speak with your Mother." Her eyebrow rose threateningly, and Draco let out a small unrepentant smile. "I am well of age, as she is perfectly aware. I doubt she will be terribly surprised." Madame Pomfrey coughed once, and then added her own impertinence. "You are not suffering the old katzenjammer inebriation syndrome, Mr. Malfoy, though you'll wish that was the case before you are through. How much do you recall from this afternoon?"

Draco's face darkened as he remembered why he never made it to class. Weasel would pay.

A/N: Please R&R, I promise to bake you a cake, and eat it too!  
I also send my love and gratitude to everyone who has read, reviewed, watched, or followed this story. Thank you for your support! An extra special thank you to the crazy woman up in Canada (Can you stop with the weather already?) whom I love! Thanks, Mom! Au Revoire!  
I know that I jumped around quite a bit with POVs in this chapter.. Please let me know if I confused you? If you know how I could do it better? Thank you so much -


	5. Temptation

**Disclaimer:** **All hail the brilliant Rowling! I am but a lowly advocate, playing with her creations in my spare, albeit slightly pathetic, time.**

Brisk cold wind whipped around the stone turrets. Occasionally wind beat against the illuminated windows in a vain effort to acquire a sense of the unusual two-leggers enclosed within. As the curious element pounded against Gryffindor tower, a volatile two-legger could be seen repeatedly kicking his trunk until his face was as fiery red as his hair. Nodding a wise gust, wind declared that fire was simply too unpredictable, conveniently forgetting its own impulsive nature, and with a spontaneous blast, wind was gone.

With one last kick, and a sharp pain in his ribs, George's wind was gone as well. He sat down on the floor, pulled his knees up to his chest, and leaned his head forward, trying to catch his breath. As his breathing slowed, George frowned down at the carpet, silently berating all things pedantic—or academic. One unbearable old crone in particular.

McGonagall was impossible. Leave it to her to refuse to expel him, as a form of punishment. Bloody impertinent! In fact, it was downright cheeky.

Okay, so he had to admit that she had outsmarted him this time, but he would be victorious in the end. He would just have to do something so unconscionable, so outlandish, that she would have no choice but to expel him... Without tossing him in Azkaban, he added belatedly to himself.

Too bad about that. Ah, well.

No longer able to ignore the chill emanating from the floor, he slowly stood up and stretched. His body was stiff, and the cold had seeped into his bones, making him ache. Brashly dismissing McGonagall's admonishment to behave – or else, George headed towards the door, fully intent on revisiting a dear old passageway that leads directly into The Three Broomsticks.

Upon entering the Common Room, he immediately noticed a commotion near the fireplace. The trio plus one furious sister of his were arguing with each other quite loudly, and George noted with raised eyebrows that Ginny and Harry both looked ireful and red in the face. Curious, George sidled closer to see what exactly was going on.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Harry asked, for the second time. His stomach was in a knot, and he was staring with stark unbelief at his girlfriend. "He didn't do anything. He was just standing there. There was absolutely no provocation—"

"No provocation? He's a bloody Death Eater! There's all the provocation anybody needs! Since when does that not give us justification to blast his pointy little head off?"

"She's got a point, Mate-" Ron added.

Harry exploded, "Since the war is OVER! I don't believe this. What the hell is wrong with you guys? This is the same line of prejudice that they used against muggles and half-bloods. I am so SICK of everyone judging everyone else!"

Hermione was nodding enthusiastically with this speech. Ron looked confused, but before they could reply, George sidled closer and folded his arms. "Are you actually defending the ferret, Potter?"

They glanced at him in surprise, and Harry straightened his shoulders as he faced George. Ah, hell. In for a knut, in for a galleon. "Yes. Yes—I suppose, yes I am. You had no right-"

The atmosphere chilled considerably as George interrupted Harry. His voice was soft, but all the more dangerous for it. "No right? My brother is dead. As far as I am concerned, every last whoreson and arse bearing a dark mark is equally accountable. That includes the whimpering ferret!"

"That doesn't mean—you don't know—look, I am not Malfoy's biggest fan, obviously, I never have been. But for all of my disgust with him over the years, I do happen to know him pretty well. He didn't become a Death Eater for whatever sick reasons many of them joined up for. He was disillusioned, and yes, trying to protect his family. You don't know what Voldemort made him do. You don't—You can't just..."

Harry trailed off, and met Ginny's eye. She was staring at him, her gaze unreadable. Her expression hardened when Hermione took Harry's hand in a show of support.

George sneered. "Ta! Now that The Chosen One has spoken so eloquently, I think I am ready to dust off my shoes and get the hell out of this place. Gin? Ron? You coming?"

Ginny nodded, but Ron didn't move. "I think I'll stay here."

"Of course you are, Ickle Fickle Ronniekins. Couldn't dream of breaking up the golden trio." With a disparaging nod, George saluted them and walked away, Ginny right on his heels.

Ginny exited the portrait hole without a backwards glance. Her stomach was burning with resentment as she called to mind how Harry and Hermione always team up together. How is it that Harry could completely disregard seven years of solid dislike, to – to defend that abhorrent suppuration? Has he had a recent head injury that she did not know about?

Disgruntled, and feeling more than a little reckless, Ginny walked quickly to keep up with George, who was practically sprinting down the hallway. "Wait up, Quacko!"

George smirked over his shoulder and obligingly slowed his steps. "Wotcher there, Ned."

Ginny narrowed her eyes, then laughed. "You haven't called me that in years." She couldn't help laughing again as she remembered some of the infamous misadventures the three of them had sought-and always found. Quacko, Wonko, and Ned, the terrible trio. The smile died on her face as a wave of hurt and grief stole over her. They were down to a terrible duo, and understandably, it just was not the same.

In a rare spirited moment for George these days, he turned to her, and poking her in the ribs with his wand, bellowed, "Have ye' any plunder, ye' troublesome maiden?"

Ginny's face lit up, it was wonderful to see George clowning around again. Then with a look of contempt, Ginny whipped out her wand so fast it was a blur. "Aye, ye' blasted skulldog, but ye' get nothing from me. You be lookin' at One Eyed Sam, the most fearsome brigand ye' will ever have the dishonor-nay, the misfortune, to meet!"

Ginny growled convincingly, and George was screaming with laughter on the inside because he spotted a very flustered looking Flitwick a few paces behind Ginny, his eyebrows practically reaching the ceiling. Quite a feat for the little man, wouldn't you say?

"Alas, dear sister, perchance we should skedaddle along."

Ginny, with a confused look, happened a glance over her shoulder and stopped short. Immediately flushing, she curtsied to the silent Professor, and scurried off before any trouble could be found.

Professor Flitwick trembled with unleashed mirth, and shook his head in quiet amusement the whole trip to the Headmistress' office. He could scarcely wait to unveil the scene during the impending staff meeting.

Ginny was slightly mortified, but quickly recovered, and was soon laughing about the look on Professor Flitwick's face along with George. It was declared impossible for the little man to be any more surprised, and George happily congratulated her for such an accomplishment.

Soon, George began to quiet, and they began looking cautiously around corners as they neared the passageway that they sought to take into Hogsmeade. There was fun, too, in sneaking about. Ginny had a satisfied smile on her face as they put silencing charms on their shoes, and kept a wary lookout for Peeves.

The statue was met with no more mishaps, and Ginny entered first, George not far behind. Both muttered "Lumos" into the dark, and Ginny let George take the lead.

The argument with Harry was beginning to feel distant, and Ginny was determined not to feel a bit of guilt about any of it. Shaking off the residual anger and frustration with Harry, Ginny focused only on having a good time with her brother that she had sorely missed.

Ginny never was the sort to be afraid of the dark, or enclosed spaces, but it did feel as if the passage took forever, and she was quite glad to be on the other side of it at last. Emerging into Rosmerta's storeroom, they dusted each other off, and Ginny laughingly swatted a large spider out of George's hair.

The two of them casually exited the room, and as they strode towards the bar, Rosmerta knowingly smiled at George. George raised an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth in a witty smirk in return.

"All right, you two. I expect this one to schlep off, Miss Weasley, but I daresay, I expected more from you."

Ginny grinned at Rosmerta, and answered with every ounce of impertinence she possessed, "I remain the dearest of angelic creatures I assure you. Two firewhiskeys, if you please."

With a chuckle, Rosmerta turned to oblige, and as a few hours or more went by, the two of them had each drank a paltry amount, and were beginning to talk much louder than necessary. Many patrons eyed them curiously, and finally, Madame Rosmerta was forced to deny them any more firewhiskey.

"Would you two dears like something to eat? How about a nice platter, and some hot coffee?"

A little redder in the face than usual, George smiled at Rosmerta with eager warmth. "A fine offer! But, alas, I must deny. How about you let me take you out to dinner sometime, Rosmerta? Why, I could make your every dream come true. Just name the day! What say you?"

Internally weary of such mindless flirtations, Rosmerta took a breath, and answered dryly. "Oh, a fine offer, to be sure, but I must deny. Miss Weasley? Would you like something to eat?"

Ginny declined with thanks. George stood, and paying the expensive tab without a qualm, he set out of The Three Broomsticks at a fast, if not steady, quip. The two family members rambled around Hogsmeade for a time, and becoming drowsy, George turned into the Hogs Head for a few words with Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth.

They exchanged pleasantries with Aberforth, and though he regarded them in a stern manner, Aberforth never reprimanded them for bailing out of Hogwarts. Yawning, George ordered them both butterbeers, and they sat in a fairly secluded corner. The only nearby occupants were two young wizards a few years older than them, but as they had never seen them before, George and Ginny paid them no mind.

George leaned his head against his hand and yawned, but Ginny was restless and wide-awake. She snorted in astonishment as George nodded off, and sat drumming her fingernails, and shaking her crossed leg. As George let out a snore, she shook her head and smiled, accidentally catching the eye of one of the nearby wizards.

He smiled warmly at her, and with a blush, Ginny pointedly looked away. Red hair was a curse. Why did she have to blush so easily? Now he was going to get the wrong idea.

Several minutes passed in silence. Just as Ginny was considering waking George up so that they could leave, one of the strangers finished his drink, and bid the other goodbye with a subtly significant look. Very shortly after, the remaining stranger stretched and stood up. With a determined step, he walked over to their table, and bowed slightly at the waist.

"I beg your pardon, Miss, but I don't believe I have had the pleasure? What, pray tell, is your name?"

Slightly taken aback by his forwardness, and strange accent, Ginny stared at him for a full ten seconds before answering reluctantly.

"Ah, Weasley! I have heard much of your family, many great things. May I?" He inclined his dark head towards the chair next to her, and as her audaciousness had only increased with each subsequent drink, she squared her shoulders and raised her hand, indicating for him to sit.

After taking a long sip of George's butterbeer, Ginny smiled at the wizard and asked, "And what is your name? Where are you from?"

"My name is Ioan Emlyn, but Owan to you please. I hail from Wales." He grinned at her, and began asking her all sorts of questions about herself. Ginny was beginning to feel light-headed, and a strange warm glow was spreading all through her. As Owan leaned a little closer to her while he talked animatedly about his Healer training at St. Mungo's, Harry's face guiltily came to mind. Shaking away all feelings of guilt, which, to be honest, was much too easy with all of the firewhiskey in her system, Ginny leaned closer still.

They talked for several minutes before Owan asked if she would like to apparate with him to his flat, promising to feed her fish and chips. There was no denying that he had an easy charm, and she had very little restraint left. After a short pause, and half a glance at her snoring brother, Ginny nodded.

He followed her out of the door, and reaching for her hand, he apparated.

With a sick feeling of vertigo, Ginny clung to him until her head stopped spinning. Unfortunately, that took a little longer than expected, and when she let go he was smiling down at her with magnetic eyes.

Ginny took a nervous step back and for a minute she could not breathe. She walked around the room, seeing little, but pretending to be examining a collage of his pictures on the wall. He seemed to sense that she needed a little space for a minute, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ginny could hear him rummaging in his icebox and setting out some dishes. Standing still, it was hard for her to believe that any of this was actually occurring. Was she responsible for something that could not be happening?

Before she could make up her mind about anything, Owan came back into the room bearing two steaming plates and a carefree smile. He magnanimously set them upon the coffee table, and bowed towards Ginny.

"My fair lady, your dinner awaits."

Ginny sat with a happy sigh, and began eating. Owan dramatically gestured with his food as he was talking between bites, and Ginny laughed at much of what he had to say. Before her food was halfway gone, his hand had found her thigh, and Ginny surprised herself by encouraging him. She shifted a little closer, and set her plate down on the table.

It was getting hard to think straight, her body was warm and her mind was fuzzy. Owan was leaning towards her, her heart was pounding, and if she looked at him in this dim lighting, she could almost pretend that it was Harry whispering in her ear, kissing her first slowly, and then more insistently. It was Harry who straddled her on his lap, wasn't it? Not some stranger from a pub.

She felt slightly giddy, and something else - something beyond the boundary of recklessness. She imagined that it was Harry who claimed her virginity, but deep down, she knew. And she was heartbroken.

**Author's Note: The Welsh meaning of the name Ioan Emlyn is more or less "gracious rival" and is pronounced "EYE-O-WAN Em-LYNN"**

I** apologize for the long wait, I have been writing a lot, I just have not had internet on my computer for a few reasons. The next two chapters are complete, and will be online very soon. I am not going to hold them ransom for reviews or anything, but… well, you know, reviews are very nice, lol. Thank you for reading.**


	6. Aftermath

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but take heart dear readers, because I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

Ginny rolled over and clutched her head. It felt like a giant was squeezing her temples together, and before she even knew what she was doing, she was vomiting on the floor. A low timbre voice broke through her clouded thoughts, and she first heard him mutter a soft "Evanesco", then a conjuring spell, and felt a cool cloth on her face.

Her mouth was so dry, but she managed to croak a few words. "Oh, gods, Harry. Last night?"

He chuckled, and helped her to stand up. "Whose Harry?"

Ginny froze, and looked up into the face of the man next to her with wide eyes. Suddenly, bits and pieces of the previous evening filtered back into her mind, and when she had connected them all, she gasped. Her knees gave out, and she almost sunk to the floor, but he held her fast.

He sounded concerned now, as he asked again. "Ginny? Whose Harry?"

She didn't answer. Her face was getting paler by the second, and Owan, always a good sport, helped her into the loo. She sat down shakily by the toilet, and pulled her knees up to her chest. Looking away from him, she quietly asked to be alone, and then promptly burst into tears.

Owan stood there uncomfortably for a minute, and rubbing his head bemusedly, he backed out of the room, quietly shutting the door. He stood there undecided for a time, and when the sobs quieted down somewhat, he walked to the kitchen to make some coffee and tea. He rifled in an overhead cabinet for a hangover potion, and set it on the counter.

Ginny leaned her head down and cried until she was out of breath, and then gasping for air, she felt nausea rising again. She flipped the seat open just in time, and threw up the rest of her scant dinner. Having nothing else, she started to dry heave, only to discover that this was somehow even worse. She felt like she was going to die, she couldn't breathe, and she couldn't seem to stop.

Owan heard her, and quickly rushed into the bathroom with a bottle of water in one hand and the potion in the other. He pulled her hair back and wet a few nearby towels. Calmly and quickly, Owan washed her face, and then held a fresh and cool wash towel to her forehead. Quietly, he cradled her face in his hands and tried to calm her down.

"Shhhh, Gin. Take it easy. Breathe through your nose. Go on. It's okay. You are going to be just fine. Breathe through your nose. That's it."

He continued to talk gently towards her until she calmed down and was breathing normally. She was still crying, but the tears fell silently, and she leaned her head back down on her knees. Owan sat back on one knee, and guiltily watched her shoulders shake quietly.

He cleared his throat to speak, "Ginny—" But he faltered, and after a minute he tried again. "Ginny, we don't know each other very well, and I am just as thickheaded as any bloke, but something is wrong. Could you do me this honor of telling me what it is? Have I done something? Did I… Did I hurt you?"

For a time, all Ginny could do was shake her head. Finally, she lifted her head and met his eyes. She swallowed, and wearily rubbed her face before answering. Her voice was scratchy, and he handed her the bottle of water silently.

"Thank you, no, no. I don't know what I was thinking. I…" Ginny sighed, and looked away from his steady gaze. "I—You see, I would have never..." She put her head down and Owan could just barely make out what she said. "I have a boyfriend." She raised her head, and her eyes overflowed. "Harry."

Owan nodded, he had been thinking that it must be something like that. He handed over the small bottle of hangover potion and gently squeezed her shoulder, then stood and left, giving her some privacy.

Ginny stared at the bottle for a minute, then uncorked it, and downed it in one gulp. Her headache immediately eased, and with a small sigh of relief she shakily got up off of the floor. Ginny stood over the vanity for a few minutes and looked at her reflection with a small start of surprise. She looked awful. Her freckles stood out in sharp relief from the white pallor of her face, and her eyes were horribly bloodshot. Her hair was unmentionable, to be honest, she could not even think about it. With a ragged sigh, she turned away and knelt to turn on his shower.

Undressing was really strange, her body felt as if it didn't belong to her anymore. It had betrayed her, and now, looking at it, she felt disconnected and disgusted. Shivering, she stepped into the shower and scrubbed ruthlessly for several minutes. Even though the water was steaming hot, she started shivering, and her body was aching. Feeling weak in the knees, Ginny eventually sank down onto the floor of the bathtub and huddled under the hot spray.

A thousand memories of Harry attacked her mind, and she closed her eyes in the only defense that she had, but it did not help. How could she have been so ridiculous as to get herself into a situation such as this? Pushing guilt to the back of her mind before? Stupid! She had not known what guilt was! You can dance around it, but it will not be ignored.

Ginny tightened into a ball, still shivering, and cried out. What was she going to do?

At the Hog's Head, George had slumbered in peace for several hours. Nearing dawn, Aberforth repeatedly shook his shoulder until George began to wake up. George stretched like a cat, looked at Aberforth in surprise for a few seconds, and then grinned at him.

Aberforth rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Out with you, Weasley. I am fixing to open back up." He stared down at the table resignedly where George had slobbered and drooled everywhere. He was getting too old for this.

With a yawn, George slapped Aberforth on the back, and began to walk away. Suddenly stopping mid-step, he turned back to the old man questionably. "Where's Ginny at?"

Aberforth shook his head. "She's been gone for ages. I didn't happen to see her leave, but she knows where the portrait is as well as anybody. Probably didn't fancy trying to sleep here, especially with all your snoring."

George smiled fleetingly, and nodded. That sounded like Gin. "See you around, old man." With a cheeky wave, he strode off towards the portrait.

Aberforth turned his eyes towards the ceiling and shook his head. "Impudent little bugger."

George heard him, and smiled on the inside. He couldn't agree more. After he made it to the Room of Requirement, he yawned and headed directly towards his dormitory. He felt like he could sleep until noon, at least.

-

Harry had fallen asleep on a couch by the fire in the Common Room around three in the morning. He was anxious to talk to Ginny, and he had grown increasingly angry when she still had not returned.

He woke with a start when the sun began shining through the windows into his eyes. Blearily, Harry looked around and remembered. His heart sank when he realized that he must have missed her. Determining to talk to her as soon as she came down for breakfast, Harry sat up and yawned, preparing to wait. A few hours crept by slowly, and he had almost dozed off when the portrait hole opened. Upon seeing Ginny standing there awkwardly, he stood up quickly and walked over to her. She looked ill. His anger evaporated, and was forgotten. She wouldn't meet his eye, and Harry touched her hair gently. "Are you alright? Gin? Where have you been?"

Ginny trembled and stared at the floor as she lied. "I went to go see Madame Pomfrey. I don't… feel too good."

Harry nodded and took her hand, leading her over to a nearby couch. "Can I get you anything?"

Ginny shook her head and tucked herself under his arm, pulling her feet under her, onto the couch. She weakly closed her eyes and leaned into Harry, grateful to be near him. Harry felt how cold she was, and conjured a blanket. He charmed it to hold extra warmth, and settled it around her shoulders. Ginny sighed softly, and opened one eye when Harry began talking.

"About last night—"

Ginny shushed him. "I was… wrong." Tears welled up, and she took a deep breath. "Honestly, I think it is nice that you seem to have forgiven—" She choked on a sob for a second, and then continued. "Malfoy."

Harry stared at her and then with a smile, he settled her feet across his lap, and pulled her in closer to his side. She leaned her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes and immediately drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Author's Note: A little shorter than usual, but it seemed like a good place to stop. If you miss Draco, do not worry, he returns in full force in the next chapter.

**You have my gratitude for reading, and if you do not mind to do so, please review! I posted this chapter so soon because even though I didn't get any reviews on the last chapter (insert pathetic sad face here) I did get over a hundred visitors in only two days. Honestly, you guys… Thank you for reading! But… how is it that out of 100 people, not one can write a few words? (: This puzzles me, and irks me, but no matter. Lucky for you lot, I am writing just as much for my own entertainment, as for yours. :P **

**Will update very soon! (:**


	7. Rejection

**Disclaimer: My name is not J.K. Rowling. Satisfied?**

Hermione sat in the Great Hall during breakfast, eating a few bites of her scrambled eggs when the owl post arrived. She glanced up in surprise when a large gray tawnyowl landed with a flourish on her toast. The owl blinked and backed up off of her plate, then lifted its left leg towards her.

Hermione bit her lip, and took the proffered envelope. This was the school owl that she had used in her latest correspondence attempt to her parents. With a quavering hoot, the owl lifted up and set forth towards the window, likely in pursuit of a lengthy nap.

With unsteady hands, Hermione cradled the envelope in her lap. This is the first time that her own letter was not returned to her unopened.

Hermione stood, and met Ginny's curious gaze. The boys, as observant as ever, continued to dig into their breakfast without pause. Hermione opened and closed her mouth, and with a sigh, she turned and rushed out of the Great Hall. Turning quickly around every corner, she arrived to her first class with a good twenty minutes to spare. She absentmindedly sat in her chair at the front of the I.H. Workshop auditorium, and turned the envelope over and over.

Finally, she used her wand to open it and drew out the short note in her Father's distracted scrawl. Holding her breath, Hermione read it, clutching the paper tightly.

_What right have you to keep plastering us with owls and unwanted letters? The last thing my wife or I need is a constant reminder of your pride and cunning duplicity. Stop writing immediately. There's nothing you can say that will change the way I feel._

_I finished sitting shiva for you last week, and I have no further regrets. My daughter is dead._

Hermione gasped, and felt light-headed. Her Father had mourned and said the prayers of the dead over her? He was even more stubborn that she thought. The well of hopelessness that was so close to bubbling over within her these past months overflowed, and flooded her senses. Blindly, she stood, and clutching the letter, fled from the room.

She slammed into someone with a startled "Oomph" shortly after reaching the hallway, and stumbled. Strong hands caught her, and she stared up into gray eyes as surprised as her own. With a half-strangled sob, Hermione tore away in mortification, and hurried down the hall into the nearest bathroom. She closed the stall door with a shudder, and alternated between shaking silently with quiet sobs, and blowing her nose. How could her Mother let him do such a thing? With a worried, broken heart, Hermione wrapped her arms around her legs and hid her face, shaking occasionally with silent tears.

Draco stared after Granger's retreating figure with a flabbergasted frown, then walked into the auditorium and took his usual seat in the back. He had no idea what was going on with the Gryffindor Princess, and shaking his head slightly, he reminded himself that he did not really care. Pulling out his Arithmancy book, Advanced Numerology and Grammatica_, _he continued studying for the upcoming exam.

The minutes passed slowly, and Draco had to keep pushing thoughts of Granger out of his mind. With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead, which was starting to pound. Damn Weasley. Damn Granger.

Professor Caulfield walked in, and nodded at him with a restrained smile. Draco shut his textbook and shoved it back into his bag, swapping it for the annoying workbook for this class. It was filled with the boring utterances of his dunderheaded classmates, and he was quite keen to burn it at the end of the year.

Soon, above-mentioned classmates began filing into the auditorium in small groups. Annoyed with himself, Draco narrowed his eyes and watched for Granger to arrive in class, but she never did. Professor Caulfield began pairing everyone off, and as he called out for Draco to pair up with Granger, Draco raised his eyebrows at the Professor. "She's not here."

Professor Caulfield glanced at her bag sitting by her empty chair with a small frown, and after a pause, replied. "Well, alright. Pair up with Ginny Weasley for right now, and when she returns, the three of you can finish your assignment together.

Great. Now he could suffer through not one, but two Gryffindors. Lady Luck was most assuredly having a laugh at his expense today.

With a frown, Draco reluctantly complied, settling into the vacated chair next to the tall redhead. She turned to him with a soft sigh, and gazed at him without saying a word. He thought that she looked poorly; she was even paler than usual, and she looked tired; dark smudges stood out underneath her eyes.

"Ho, Weasley."

Her eyebrows rose slightly, and she looked down at her small desk. "Ho, Malfoy."

"Let's suffer through this in quelling spirits, shall we?"

Ginny shrugged in reply, and twirled her quill awkwardly.

Time crawled by, and Draco forced himself not to look at Granger's empty chair every few minutes. Instead, he focused on his workbook, and the unusually quiet Weasley seated next to him. Frowning down at today's worksheet, Draco rubbed his forehead again, and embarrassedly asked her the next question.

Oh, what we have to endure in the name of education.

"What is your favorite… physical attribute? …Ugh, pain in my arse. Where does he come up with these questions?"

Ginny shook her head, and couldn't help a half-hearted laugh. "I have no idea, on both counts. Just make something up."

Draco smirked and wrote down, "Freckles," knowing it was anything but true. Ginny rolled her eyes, and cleared her throat. "Well, I would ask, but I already know."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Everyone knows that you are completely obsessed with your hair."

Draco grinned. "I cannot argue with that. It's definitely my best feature. Who can argue with perfection?"

Ginny tried not to roll her eyes, it felt like that is all she has been doing since class started. "Indeed." She yawned, and rubbed her eyes blearily. She had not been able to sleep very much lately, and whenever she did finally doze off, her dreams were vivid and strange. "The questions just get weirder and weirder. Oh-kay Malfoy, What would you name the autobiography of your life?"

Draco pursed his lips in thought, but was interrupted by an amused cry from Ron, who was sitting nearby. "How about The Life and Lies of the Ferret-Boy Wonder?" Ron laughed heartily at his own perceived brilliance.

Draco flushed and glared at the goofy grin on Ron Weasley's face. Ginny frowned, and after a minute, she rebuked her brother. "The only wonder is you, Ronald. You should have heard him screaming like a girl last night, because of a teensy spider crawling on his arm. He fell _off of the couch._" Ron gaped at his sister, and immediately clammed up. Zacharias Smith, his partner for today, snickered loudly, and dropped his quill.

Surprised, Draco shared an acknowledging glance with her, and exhaled his breath. "I'll have to think of mine for a minute. Do you have an idea for yours?"

Ginny nodded. "Sure. Um… How about, _Why Redheads Have More Fun."_

"Nice." Draco came up with a satisfactory answer. "I think I should call mine something like, _The Highest Standard_."

Draco read the next question uneasily. Today's worksheet was getting out of his comfort zone. "Bloody worksheet. I hate to ask this, but what do you do when you feel very sad, or depressed?"

Ginny didn't answer.

-

Hermione stayed in the girl's dormitory for the rest of the day. Twice, Ginny came to check on her between classes. The second time, Hermione felt more like talking. Ginny didn't say much, which wasn't really like her, but Hermione was thankful for her restraint.

Hermione sat up on the bed, and hugged her knees to her chest. She told Ginny about her trip to Australia after the war ended, and after a pause, she added, "I haven't told anyone, and please don't tell the boys, but my Father disowned me this summer."

Ginny's eyes widened, but otherwise didn't react.

Hermione sighed, and traced the embroidered pattern on the coverlet. "Have you ever done something so stupid, so… unpardonable, that you're not sure if things will ever right themselves again?"

Ginny stiffened, and didn't reply.

Hermione sighed, and wiped her eyes. "I don't know if he is ever going to forgive me. The letter I got at breakfast…"

Her throat clogged up, and Ginny gave her a hug. "I'll tell the guys that you are sick, okay? They have been worried about you."

Hermione nodded, and after her friend had left, she eased her head down onto the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

A few hours later, she woke up and stretched, feeling weak and groggy. Hermione rolled out of bed, slightly ashamed at having spent the whole day in it, and determinedly headed towards the bathroom. What she needed was a steaming shower, a change of clothes, and a new perspective.

The shower did help, as they have a tendency to do, and as she stepped out of the humid bathroom, some of the fog weighing down her emotions lifted. Hermione rolled her neck experimentally, and stretched. As she crossed the room, her eye caught on the stark white paper of her Father's letter. Hermione paused, and without ever coming to a conscious decision, she walked over to her desk and sat down.

She chewed on the end of her quill for a few seconds before she began to write, as she organized her thoughts. But the words, once begun, spilled onto the page confidently.

Hermione left the letter unsigned. She folded and addressed it to her parents before she could change her mind.

The sun was beginning to set when Hermione made it to the Owlery, and with her breath caught in her throat, she watched the sunset until all light faded from the horizon. Afterwards, she petted a nearby owl absently, and then nervously, she brought her envelope to her lips and kissed it gently.

A few seconds later, the letter was attached to the owl, and soaring across the sky.

Author's Note: I am not sure how many of you have read Ender's Game? Or any of the series for that matter... but I borrowed Draco's greeting ("Ho, Weasley") from it. I have decided to force it on these unsuspecting wizards in their Muggle Studies class, even if it is just a behind the scenes assignment found in my footnotes. (:

Not much is really known about Hermione's parents, except that they are dentists, and proud of their daughter's intellect. I decided to make her Dad Jewish (by birth, and sometimes, in habit), and her Mom Catholic, both interesting religions, and the combination of the two would make for an interesting and unusual marriage dynamic, which I needed.

Somehow, and it is okay if you disagree with me, I can see Hermione being brought up in a dominantly Catholic household.

The word shiva is Hebrew for the word 'seven' – shiva refers to a formal mourning of the dead that lasts seven days…

I have Hermione's letter written… but you have to wait a few more chapters until you get to read it. Muaxxxx.

Thank you, as always, for reading.

Please review! Even if it is just a one liner, I appreciate it very much. Encouraged people write faster, you know. ;)

The next chapter is predominantly Draco.


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